After the Torah is returned to the ark, we continue with an “additional” service, musaf, which basically consists of another amidah prayer. The usual explanation for this additional service is that all of our prayer services reflect the order of sacrifices in the Temple in Jerusalem. Our prayers are thus a symbolic substitute for our sacrifices.

There was a daily sacrifice in the Temple. Hence, the normal shacharit amidah. On Shabbat and holidays, though, there was an additional sacrifice marking the special sanctity of the special day—hence the need for an additional amidah.

The most distinctive feature of this amidah is the fourth (middle) blessing. It is a reverse alphabetic acrostic—a fancy way of saying that the opening words use all the letters of the Hebrew alphabet in reverse order (tikanta shabbat ratzita korbanoteha). The prayer interweaves the themes of the sacrifices for Shabbat and the delight of Shabbat itself.

The recitation of musaf is somewhat controversial. The Reform movement has eliminated it entirely, seeing it as superfluous. First, we aren’t interested in sacrifice generally speaking. And second, considering the limits on our attention span, reciting another amidah seems a little bit much. These are, to be sure, reasonable concerns. The current Shabbat service is probably the longest it has ever been in the past 2,000 years (and the fact that it comes when we have the shortest attention span in the last 2,000 years doesn’t help).

But to paraphrase Rabbi Joseph Hertz, there is something to be said for Jews “yearning for the opportunity of fulfilling Divine commandments which they cannot observe at present.” From this perspective, the musaf prayer, which describes a feeling of fullness and satisfaction, a celebration of divine presence so strong you can literally taste it (toameha chayinm zachu—“those who taste it merit life”) gains an extra poignancy knowing that, because of our exile, we cannot experience that complete satiety. To experience wholeness in our lives, we must acknowledge both presence and absence. As if to emphasize this point, the musaf amidah includes very specific reference to the Shabbat sacrifices that would have been performed if the Temple were still standing. None of the other regular amidot do this.

Rather than pretending that all is okay and nothing has changed with the Temple’s destruction, our tradition forces us to confront the reality of exile.

How oddly powerful to remember what we have lost.

The poet Alyssa Underwood expressed it this way in “A Weight on Each Shoulder”:

Inexpressible yearning
For some secret we know
But can’t speak for the burning
Repercussions of woe

Not some mere melancholy
Nor nostalgic forlorn
Not the musings of folly
But a sense that we’re torn

From primordial root
And from headwaters fresh
Yet much deeper to boot
From our spiritual breath

‘Tis an ache not for wares,
Appreciation or fame
But a fight just for air
Against strangling shame

For we’re naked, we know
And with all we devise
Our most flawed parts still show
To a pure set of eyes

Like we’re walking around
With no covering intact
But thin hospital gown
With wide split up the back

So we hide our true face
Aim to be what we’re not
Work our blots to erase
Lest our schemes should be caught

Be ‘t by friend or by foe
We dare not risk the pain
Of humiliation’s blow
On top of our stain

But instead of relief
Anguish grows louder till
This life’s loneliest grief
Paralyzes the will

And last hope all but dies
On doubt’s bed of despair
While embittered heart cries
That its lot’s too unfair

There may be no way to comfort the tortured post-modern soul of the poet. But the musaf amidah reminds us of the soothing balm of Shabbat in the continuation of the prayer yismechu bmachutecha shomrei Shabbat—those who keep Shabbat will celebrate Your kingdom. For Shabbat itself is a foretaste of the world to come, and Shabbat rest a foretaste of complete redemption.

May it come quickly, in our day.

Rabbi Robert L. Wolkoff